


you and your white horse

by commas_and_ampersands



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commas_and_ampersands/pseuds/commas_and_ampersands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his way to find George Wickham, Darcy makes a detour to the Bennet household.  Unfortunately, the wrong Bennet sister is at home.  Or is she the right one?</p>
            </blockquote>





	you and your white horse

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after episode 86. I think all of the continuity works, though you may have to squint.
> 
> Warning: Much discussion of sex-shaming.
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift's "White Horse."

He should have called first.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t occurred to Darcy until three seconds after he rang the Bennets’ doorbell.  Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t have come at all.  He had to admit that after sleeping only four hours a night for the last week, his judgment was somewhat impaired. 

On his way to Newport Beach, Darcy had thought of no less than a dozen reasons that made visiting the Bennets perfectly reasonable, if not necessary.  They undoubtedly deserved a status report, and Lizzie… well, none of them were likely watching the Pemberley videos.  Certainly no one would have ever expected the level of personal information being revealed on them.  Not to mention, he could use a rest.  The detour would add around two hours to his driving time, but the break might well be worth it.  Besides, Gigi had intimated that he should visit, and he trusted his sister regarding the navigation of troublesome social waters.

Though if Darcy was perfectly honest with himself, they were fabrications all.  The truth of it was simple.  He missed her.

 

Maybe he didn’t have the right to do so.  Lizzie and he might have become… somewhat friendly during her stay at Pemberley, but it was still plausible that she didn’t want anything to do with him.  His presence would undoubtedly remind her of the havoc George Wickham had wreaked on her family.  Even if George affected their “relationship” not at all, that same “relationship” remained unclear.  She didn’t seem to hate him anymore – at least he hoped she didn’t.  Nevertheless, that didn’t mean she actually cared for him, much less liked him as a friend.  She could have just been trying to make her experience at his company less awkward.

Gigi and Fitz told him otherwise, but he knew Lizzie better.

Or did he?  After all, he hadn’t expected such a violent rejection the first time around.  Nor had he – the CEO of a company specializing in web video – known of her vlog until she told him about it.  Lizzie Bennet could very well be unknowable… at least to him.

Darcy rubbed his eyes, longing for sleep and knowing he could afford none.  He hoped seeing Lizzie could act as a balm to soothe his exhaustion.  Perhaps she’d invite him in for coffee.  Perhaps they could talk.  Perhaps he could allow himself some respite in her astonishing eyes….

He cut himself off, wincing at his daydreaming.  Infantilism.  Rubbish.  Fantasy.  George Wickham and Novelty Exposures would not wait while he nursed his schoolboy crush.

“Idiot,” he muttered, finally admitting that this endeavor had been foolish in the extreme.  Better to cut his losses and continue his journey.  He turned to go.

The door opened.

His heart clenched with that painful optimism he’d come to associate with seeing her.  He spun awkwardly.  “Lizzie, I’m sorry to—”

Darcy bit his tongue, realizing his mistake too late.  How short-sighted of him to make any assumptions about his welcoming.  Lizzie didn’t live alone.  He knew that, yet it had never once occurred to him that he anyone but she would answer his knock.  The reality smacked of irony and a bit of poetic justice.  This was no less than he deserved.

“Lydia,” he said stupidly.

She didn’t answer right away.  At first, he assumed she did it to measure his attentions in appearing there.  Not so.  The Lydia who answered the door did not in the slightest resemble the… energetic Lydia he had known.

George had drained her.  Her skin looked paper white, almost sickly.  She appeared thinner.  No, that wasn’t quite right.  Her size had not diminished, but her presence had.  In defending Lydia against his and Caroline’s private sniping, Bing had likened her to a star: dazzling and brilliant.  Caroline had made some remark about the destructive natures of supernovas.  He’d laughed.  He wished he hadn’t now.

He determined her hesitation had nothing whatsoever to do with him.  She needed time to raise the barricades.  Wickham’s betrayal had torn down Lydia’s defenses.  He’d left her raw – easily bruised.  And William Darcy had contributed so much to what had happened, hadn’t he?  Why wouldn’t she take a moment to prepare herself for an assault?

He ought to have brought a white flag.

In a matter of seconds, she cobbled together a facsimile of her old self.  Her joy and vitality had fled her, but her rage remained, boiling hot like the center of the sun.  For now, it would have to do.

 “Darcy.”  She’d sharpened her voice to a razor’s edge, but the incongruity between her speech and her body was wide.  His macabre fancy imagined her as a glass figure, blown from fire and long since cooled.  He watched her teeter on the threshold.  He pictured her overbalancing, falling, shattering.

He blinked the vision away.  “I apologize, Lydia, I haven’t been… I mean to say, I—”

“You’re surprised at how crappy I look,” Lydia supplied.  “I guess I’m not at my ‘energetic’ best for you, huh?”

The back of his neck flushed.  “Not at all,” he assured her, though it sounded false even to his ears.  “I suppose… you don’t look well, but that’s to be expected given…. Well.  Things.”

The look she gave him was, unsurprisingly, scathing.  “’To be expected,’” she repeated.  “Geez, Darce.  That was almost tactful.  If I squint and tilt my head to the left.”

His jaw clenched and cracked.  Why couldn’t he be like Gigi?  She always knew just what to say.  On the other hand, stringing two sentences together without giving offense remained out of his reach.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed.  “You’re right about me; I… I’m not very good at expressing myself.”

“Ya think?”

“Could I speak with you?” he said impulsively.  “In spite of that, I mean.  That is my… communication issues.  I can try to…. I can try.”

This had clearly caught her off guard.  She took a moment now to evaluate him.  She furrowed her brow, and he noticed her eyes were red enough to match his own.  He wondered if she slept at all.  He wondered how much she wept.

Lydia leaned against the doorjamb, appearing to deny him entrance.  “You didn’t come to see me.” 

It was not a question, but he answered anyway.  “No.”

“You came to see Lizzie.”

“Yes.”

They both took a moment to take in his lack of hesitation in that response.

She dropped her gaze.  She appeared to be studying the cuffs of his trousers with remarkable intensity.  Then she took her phone out of her pocket and flicked the screen to life, checking it.  Darcy knew who she wanted.  He doubted she would believe him if he told her she waited in vain.

Lydia saw this was the case, at least for the moment, so she stowed the phone away.  “Do you still love her?”  She met his eyes then.  Her gaze damned him.

How often had he been put to that question?  Fitz and Gigi had been particularly persistent, but they weren’t alone.  He’d heard interns gossiping when they thought he wasn’t around.  He constantly walked into meetings to find the entire room had been whispering.  Upon his arrival, they went silent.  Just two weeks ago, a researcher had come out and asked him point blank.  Darcy debated between cutting his salary for the cheek or giving him a bonus for sheer nerve.

He had never answered their queries directly.  Employees, board members, and close friends would him to dodge.  Lydia Bennet would not.  Besides, he owed her something, though he was at pains to decide what exactly that something was.

“I do.”

Lydia pursed her lips.  A month ago, he would have written her off as petty and jealous.  Now he wondered what else lingered beneath the surface.  “So when’s the wedding?”

Darcy choked.  “No, I—I don’t—I don’t know how she feels.  About me.”

She laughed then, the familiar nasally squawk.  “Right.  Whatever.”

“But I truly don’t—”

“Uh-huh.”  She spun around and gestured over her shoulder.  “Come on in if you’re so desperate for my company, Darcy-Bot.”

Darcy decided not to point out that a robot programmed with his level of eloquence ought to be junked for scrap metal.  He entered the Bennet home.

He’d never actually been inside before, though he was familiar enough with the façade.  Lizzie had spotted him on at least one occasion when he’d walked by her house.  In truth, it had been one of many instances where he’d attempted to work up the courage to speak with her.  Hopefully, this did not constitute stalking.

“If you want anything to drink, you should probably make it yourself,” Lydia informed him.  “According to Lizzie, my coffee tastes like rocket fuel, and I tend to burn tea.”

“How do you—”

“It’s a gift.”

“I see,” he murmured, delaying in the foyer.  He wanted to study the living room.  At the bare minimum, Darcy felt he should know where all of the exits were in case he needed them.

He found he liked the room, which surprised him.  He liked things to be well-ordered, and the Bennet household was… not.  Coats and sweaters had been casually tossed over couches and armchairs, neglecting the perfectly fine coat rack.  Knick-knacks and memorabilia covered every available surface.  An old fashioned steam engine lined the chimney mantel.  A collection of porcelain Southern belles flirted with one another (and a few gentlemen callers) for eternity on an end table.

There were also pictures – lots of pictures.  A thousand permutations of the Bennet sisters stared back at him, frozen in a memory and time.  In the few seconds he could spare, he took in what he could.  He saw the Bennet family at the beach, minus Lydia, though her mother seemed six months pregnant with her.  Lizzie sat on her father’s knee, while he read to her from  _Jane Eyre_ , which frankly explained rather a lot.  Jane crouched next to a mannequin covered in a robin’s egg blue dress.  Perhaps it had been the first dress she’d ever made.  Lydia danced in a dark wig with a huge feather fan.   _Gypsy_ , he guessed.

Lizzie playing chicken with Charlotte on the monkey bars.  They had matching bright red braces on their teeth.  Jane balanced on horseback – on an English saddle, he noted happily.  He assumed this was not the dear, departed Mr. Wuffles.  Lydia was forever caught in mid-jump, clutching her brand new driver’s license.  He could spot Lizzie in the background, staring in mute horror.

Jane had been the homecoming queen.  Lizzie was a National Merit Scholar.  Lydia took her solo bow as Dorothy, her red shoes unmistakable.  He could see the first few rows of people, and all on their feet.  Three permutations of the Bennet sisters at their senior proms.  Three versions of high school graduation.  Three professional senior portraits.

He also saw there were many pictures of the three girls together and in pairs: Jane and Lydia, Lizzie and Jane, and many with Charlotte Lu.  There were very few of Lydia and Lizzie on their own.

He finished smoothing imaginary dust from his coat and followed after Lydia.  She sprawled on the couch, forcing him to sit elsewhere.  He chose the chair farthest away from her, realizing a moment later that it was also the least comfortable.  He was fairly sure she’d planned it that way.  She’d covered herself with what looked suspiciously like a cheetah-print Snuggie.

Fitz had bought him one of those – personalized with the Pemberley Digital logo.  It was a gag gift.  Darcy hadn’t been particularly amused.

He was similarly not amused by half-empty bottle of green apple vodka on the coffee table.  He decided it was best not to mention it.  She might have been as likely to drink from it as to hit him with it.

“Lizzie’s out to lunch with Charlotte and Jane, which I’m sure you were wondering,” Lydia announced.  “They invited me, but I decided it would be uncomfortable for them to talk about me while I was there.  Dad took Mom to a hotel so she can coast on her Xanax without one of her daughter’s bringing down her high.  I guess Dad’s there to make sure she’s still breathing or something.”  Her words were spiteful at first blush, but he could hear how her voice cracked and wavered.

“Your parents are… aware, then?”

Lydia grimaced until her lips were as pale as her flesh.  “We managed to keep it from Mom for a while.  Then my school called her this morning.”

“Your school?” he asked, too slow to follow her.  “I don’t understand what they have to do with anything.”

She started fiddling unconsciously with her phone.  “Well, it seems they received an anonymous tip from a ‘concerned student,’” she explained.  “You see, a participant in a sex tape… or they called it, ‘an amateur pornographic endeavor,’ was perhaps not the best representative for their hallowed state-funded institution.”

He felt ill.  “Good God.”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken.  “They were  _generous_  enough to say I could finish out the semester, but after that, I would have to find ‘alternative options.’”  She laughed again, but he could have easily mistaken it for a sob.

“As if I could actually go back.  There was an email, and… Mary warned me that I shouldn’t, go back.  Everyone knows.  Hell, most of them are probably on the mailing list.  And they’re all….  She saw some of the boys on the website in the library.  They were laughing.”  Her chin shook.  “They’re all laughing.”

Lydia was on the verge of tears and taking care not to shed a single one in front of him.  Gigi had done the same when Wickham had torn through her life.  He’d never actually seen her cry over him.

Lydia looked nothing like Gigi at all, but his sister was all he could see when he looked at her.  He knew with that hunched posture and haunted expression.  He could have painted it blind.

He hated George.  Not only for wronging his sister, but for wrecking this girl so utterly that she wasn’t recognizable.  All to get back at him.

Darcy hated himself as well for that.

He said the only thing that came to mind.  “Would you like me to call them?”

She giggled again, bright with desperation.  “Would I like you to call the school?  That’s rich.  Oh, and you’re rich!  Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

He’d clearly made an egregious error.  “Lydia, I—”

“You think you can just throw money at this problem, and it’ll go away,” Lydia accused, the curve of her jaw sharpening.  “Well, it’s not going to go away, Darcy.  No one’s money can make it go away.  You can pay the school to take me back, but can you pay the entire student body to forget?  Can you buy their memories?  Can you buy the texts and the tweets and the YouTube comments and—”  She shuddered violently and couldn’t go on.  She cradled her phone to her chest, knuckles pale and fingers shaking.

He wished someone was there to hold her.  She so desperately needed it.

After a moment, she continued, exhausted but venomous.  “It’s too late for you and your white horse, Darcy.  You can’t ‘save’ me – the ‘stupid whorey slut’ who ruined everyone’s life.  And even if you could save me, William Darcy, I’m not sure I’d want you to.”  She sniffed loudly.  “It’s not like it would be about me anyway, right?”

The silence echoed.  He’d never felt so small, so… impotent.  He was doing all he could, but in a way, Lydia was right.  There some things he could not undo.  It had been folly to suggest otherwise.

Still, he stumbled on.  Maybe he should have left, but he couldn’t leave her like this.  He couldn’t tell if it was fear for her or his own zealous need to atone.  “I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

 “Are you gonna shrink me now, Darcy?”

He barely managed to keep from suggesting that someone really ought to.

Lydia didn’t appear to notice his near blunder. “Anyway, what difference does it make?  Everyone else is saying it.  Or thinking it.”  Lydia cut him off before he could issue the obligatory denials.  “Precious darling Lizzie said it.  Exactly that.”

Indeed, she had.   _Episode Two: From Practically Perfect to Problematic_.

“I just watched it today, actually,” she confided.  “Brought back some fond memories.  She used to say it way more than that.  I wouldn’t want you to think that was a one-off or something.  It’s been going on ever since I was fourteen when Brent… when she heard a rumor about me.”

It was taking considerable effort for Lydia to maintain her composure, and he had never longed for Jane Bennet’s presence more in his life.

“She believed it.  She didn’t ask me if it was true.  She didn’t talk to me.  She just accepted it as fact.

“At first I thought she didn’t, and that makes it even worse, you know?  I was walking through the cafeteria at lunch, and the football players started in with the slut-coughs.”  She demonstrated for his benefit.  “Lizzie walked right up to the quarterback and slammed her lunch tray on his head.  Then she grabbed him by his letterman jacket and said if she ever heard him or anyone do anything like that again, she’d put his nut sack in a vise.”

She smiled fondly at the memory, maybe forgetting that he was there.  Either that, or it didn’t matter who was listening, just that someone was.  “I wanted to hug her, but the bell rang.  Her lunch period ended when mine started, so she stormed out right after that.

“Someone else started it again when she left.  I ate in the bathroom.

“I waited until after school when she drove us home.  She was already in her car.  I remember exactly how she looked.  Her head was on the steering wheel.  She clutched at it so tightly…. And I still didn’t understand.  I started to thank her and say what a relief it was that she believed in me when not even my best friends did.  But really, she was my best friend, right?  She was my sister.

“Before I could get the words out she said, ‘How could you do that, Lydia?  Don’t you know boys talk?  Don’t you know how this stuff gets around?  What were you thinking?’”  She reached for the vodka and took a swig directly from the bottle, unconcerned with his presence.  “Sound familiar?”

It did.

“Maybe I should have tried to say something, but even then, I knew it wouldn’t matter.  Lizzie sees what Lizzie sees.  And she believes what she believes.  If she saw me as a whore, that’s what I was to her.  A whore.”

She didn’t look like a whore then.  She looked like a little girl, terrified of the unknown that threatened to swallow her whole.  Her grief devoured her.

“Charlotte showed up after that.  She gave me a hug and told me everything would be all right.  I thought maybe that meant she didn’t believe the story, but I never heard otherwise, so… I don’t know.

“I’m still not sure when exactly it got okay for her to start calling me a slut,” Lydia murmured, looking suddenly spent.  “I remember it being gradual.  First she questioned my choices, then she started snarking and saying everything but the actual word, then suddenly… there it was.  From my own sister.”

Lydia laughed in that way that presaged a breakdown.  He wondered if he could surreptitiously text Bing for Jane’s number.  He wondered if Bing even still had it.

“You want to know something funny?” she continued, heedless of his rising panic.  “I was happy when she called me a slut on camera.   _Happy_.  Lizzie never said it in front of Jane, and Charlotte never discouraged her, but all of a sudden a hundred voices were telling her it was wrong to say that to me.  It made her a bad feminist; she should respect me; it was mean.  She was being mean.

“There were always just as many – maybe more – voices that believed her, thought it was okay.  But like… whatever.  All that mattered was that Lizzie heard those few.

“Well, no.  I don’t even think Lizzie made the decision to stop on the vlog.  It was Charlotte.  I know it was.  She’s smart like that.  Calculating, you know?”

He nodded, but she probably didn’t need him to.

“And Lizzie listened.  She wouldn’t have ever listened to me, but she heard Charlotte.  She doesn’t always, but if anyone can get through to her, it’s Charlotte.  Or Jane.  Just not me.”

Lydia wiped at her eyes with the sleeves of the pseudo-blanket.  “It’s weird, being grateful to them.  But I am, you know?  It’s like… they protected me.  It had been so long since anyone made me feel that way.  Not until….”  She trailed off, checking her phone again.

When he noticed this, Darcy stared at his feet, needing a moment to collect himself.  He didn’t doubt for a moment what Lydia said.  One could call Lydia many things as unfortunately many, including him, had chosen to do so; liar wasn’t one of them.  If anything, she had an abundance of honesty and could wield it with cruel precision if she so chose.

He could mount no defense in Lizzie’s honor.  Where this grievance was concerned, she’d had none.

Darcy could have asked Lydia why she was telling him all of this, but it didn’t matter.  She needed the warm body to vent to – someone who wasn’t Lizzie or Charlotte or even Jane.

He also thought a part of her also longed to illuminate the unseemly parts of Lizzie’s character.  How she leapt to judgment.  How she doubted those closest to her.  How she hurt them without even realizing or understanding why.

Lydia ought to have known that he of all people didn’t need reminding.  He’d weathered the storm that was Lizzie Bennet’s wrath and come out the other side, more or less in one piece.  Perhaps in some distant way, he knew exactly how she felt.  He’d only endured it for 60-odd episodes.  Lydia and Lizzie had clearly been at odds for years.

Darcy already knew the worst of Lizzie’s faults, and it didn’t matter.  He loved her anyway.  He loved her for her triumphs as well as failings.  Her wit, her intelligence, her quirkiness, her presence…. Well, he could write a novel on it if he chose to do so.  He loved Lizzie Bennet.  Not even watching all of her videos deriding him had changed that.

And though she wouldn’t admit it just now, he knew Lydia loved Lizzie as well.

“That shouldn’t have happened to you,” he muttered inadequately.  He didn’t know what else to say.

Lydia shrugged.  “A lot of things shouldn’t.”

“Or at least one.”

She didn’t acknowledge him but stared directly at her phone.

He was right though.  George Wickham should never have been allowed to happen – not to Lydia, not to Gigi, and not to Lizzie.  And he couldn’t be allowed to happen to anyone else.

Darcy nearly related this sentiment, when suddenly, something small and grey jumped up from behind the couch, startling him.  Lydia didn’t blink, but instead leaned forward and pulled it towards her.  It mewled pathetically.

“Oh.  Kitty,” he remarked, noting that it was completely bizarre when compared to the rest their conversation.

Lydia clutched the animal to her chest as if he had threatened to take her away.  “You know about Kitty?”

He heard her intentions beneath her actual question: ‘did Lizzie talk to you about me?’.  He didn’t know what was best to say.  He opted for something else, something unrelated to Lizzie.  It was true and (he hoped) not insulting.

“I… watched the videos.  Remember?

At this, Lydia looked stunned and then covered her reaction by kissing the top of Kitty’s head.  “All of them?”

“Well… yes,” he admitted, feeling embarrassed.  Truthfully, he’d watched them through three times, but Gigi had suggested he not mention that to anyone.

“But the one where I talked about Kitty,” Lydia said, “Lizzie wasn’t in it.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You watched the videos Lizzie wasn’t in?”

“I did, yes.”

It wasn’t all he had watched, but Darcy would never tell her that he’d watched her videos after he learned about the tape.  Just like he wouldn’t tell her that he’d heard Gigi crying in the bathroom one night, with Lydia’s last vlog paused just before the end on her tablet.  He didn’t see a need for her to ever know what the Darcys had witnessed.

Lydia studied him.  He felt like the subject of an anthropological study.  He wondered what she hoped to learn.

“Why?”

She hadn’t meant it as a dig – not at him or at Lizzie.  It was an honest question.  This seemed like the opportune moment for him to direct the conversation.  “Lydia, I don’t want to talk about Lizzie.  Or the videos.”

Lydia read his intentions in that quickly, proving his hypothesis that she was smarter than she acted.  She inhaled sharply, her muscles taut.  Kitty glanced up at Lydia but didn’t retreat for the time being.  “What if I don’t want to talk about Geo—?”

“I know you don’t, and I’d rather not bring this up at all.  But I’d like to – I  _need_  to apologize,” he said in a rush.  “To you.  About… well, everything.”

Lydia was too stunned to react, but what he expected?  Instant assurance that all was forgiven?  It wasn’t, and it might never be.  He knew that.

Darcy folded his hands together.  “I didn’t realize that what I said to you… and I assume how I acted towards you as well, hurt you.  I should have done; I know that.  As you’ve said I’m not the most tactful man.  Or the kindest.  Or the most open-minded.  I’m not a lot of things, to my chagrin.

“I looked at you and the rest of your family, and I drew conclusions I ought not to have reached.  I hardly knew any of you, not even… not even Lizzie.

“I realize my words are inadequate.  I’m not sure anything I can say would undo what I’ve done.  However, I would like very much to try.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but he rushed on.  “No, there’s more.

“All of what’s happened to you, it’s… it’s my fault.  He… George and I…. You know we had a falling out, to put it mildly.  I couldn’t forgive him for what he’d done, and I said things to him.  Things that… well, I’d grown up with him.  I knew better than anyone how to hurt him.  I made sure I did.  I was so angry at the time.  It all seems so damn stupid now.

“He used you to get back at me.  Lizzie too I suppose, for rejecting him and seeing through his act.  Even when we were children, there was nothing he hated more than being caught in a lie.  Perhaps I ought to have known then what he was, or what he’d become.

“And I want you to know, I’m doing what I can about the situation.”

If he hadn’t held her attention for any of his speech, he had it now.  “You’re doing… what?”

“I’m going to find him.”

Lydia straightened so sharply that Kitty fled.  “You know where he is?”

“I have a lead.”

She stood abruptly, the robe landing in a heap on the floor.  She practically leapt over the coffee table to reach him.  “Take me with you.”

Darcy stared, agape.  He ought to have expected this, so why hadn’t he?  Was he doomed forever to have the rug pulled out from under him by the Bennet women?

“You can’t,” he argued inadequately.

“Yes, I can!” she shouted.  Her eyes were wide, he might even go far as to say a bit crazed.  The effect disturbed him.

“No, you—Oh for God’s sake, I’m not going to have this kind of pitiful spat,” he snapped, rising to his feet.  It was childish, but he needed to be taller than her to feel more in control.

Lydia flushed with rage.  “You can’t tell me what to do.  You’re not… you’re not anything to me.”

“True,” he conceded.  “But it is my car, and you won’t be able to enter it unless I allow you to do so.  Nor would I let you follow me, and I assure you that if you tried, I would know.”

“How would you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he argued.  “You’re not coming.  That’s final.”

“But I could help.  He’ll listen to me.  I know he will.  And maybe it wasn’t even him.  We don’t know that.  Nobody can know that.  If I could just—”

Darcy’s reached forward to grab her, to shake her.  “Damn it, Gigi!”

They froze.  His hands were on either side of her shoulders, poised to take hold.  They shook.  She held herself perfectly still between them.  Both of them stared at his arms as if they were alien.

Darcy stumbled backwards, falling back into his seat.  His head fell into his hands, which still trembled.  It seemed like all of him was shaking in his own private earthquake.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “I’m so sorry.  I would never have… I’m just so tired, and you sounded just like her.  She never  _listens_.  She’s been fighting me this whole time, when all I want – all I’ve ever wanted – is to protect her.”  His eyes began to burn.  “And I was about to… I know it was you, but it was her.  Really it was her.”

“Her?” she murmured.  “Gigi?  Your sister?”

He took a deep breath.  He was babbling.  He needed to sleep not attempt to negotiate with anyone with the last name Bennet.  He should never have come, but he was there, and it had to be handled.  “Yes.  My sister.”

“What does she have to do with this?”

Darcy looked up at her, surprised to see her confusion was genuine.  “I assumed you…. Have you not been watching Lizzie’s videos?”  He saw her start to go on the defensive, so he held up his hands.  “It’s relevant.  I promise.”

Lydia clearly doubted that, but she answered all the same.  “The one with you and costume theater.  I stopped after that.”

“May I ask why?”

“George, he said… he said I shouldn’t watch them if they made me feel sad.  And they did.  They really did.”

“Because you missed Lizzie?”  He knew immediately that he was wrong.  “Or because she was getting… because she and I were…?”

“Because she was falling in love with you after you’d been a total jackass to me and our entire family?” Lydia asked.  “Bingo.  Give the man a prize.”

“I—I didn’t mean to suggest—”

“Oh, shut up,” Lydia groaned, practically collapsing on the coffee table.  “Why can’t everyone just shut up and say what they mean?”

That should have bothered him, how flawed her statement was, but it didn’t.  He knew exactly what she meant.

“Why did you ask anyway?  If it’s so relevant?”

Darcy nodded reluctantly.  He didn’t like to talk about this, but he hadn’t much choice.  “George and Gigi used to… see one another.”

Lydia closed her eyes, flinching away from him as if he’d dealt her a physical blow.  She grappled silently with the revelation, its implications, probably his delivery of the news.  She worried at it in silence for a full minute before she asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

And he told her.

Darcy held nothing back.  He related the specifics of how his friendship with George had ended, and he attempted to take his measure of responsibility for what had happened.  He’d never apologized, not to George, and saying it to Lydia did nothing to alleviate his guilt.  But then it wasn’t supposed to.

He explained that George had initiated a relationship with his sister in an extortion scheme.  He recounted the details of how George had inserted himself into her life so effortlessly.  He’d torn it apart with as much care.  Darcy even showed her the copy of the check he’d written George.  He kept it in his wallet as a reminder that he could never really let down his guard.

He reported what he’d managed to uncover in the past week.  George had never had a coaching job at any university.  There was no reason for him to appear during Swim Week.  Darcy suspected George had targeted Lizzie after finding her videos and reading between the lines.  George knew how awkward Darcy was with women he liked.  He could recognize the signs in Lizzie’s stories.  George had either left after determining Lizzie couldn’t be pigeon-holed into his plans or simply because he decided Gigi was a better target.

The last would be the hardest for her to hear, but he pressed on.  He told her that George had stolen someone’s identity.  He’d used a credit card under that name to buy his plane ticket to Vegas.  He had bought it the day Lydia revealed she was going there for New Year’s on Lizzie’s vlog.  He’d never booked a hotel room.  He’d known he wouldn’t need one.  Having eliminated all other targets, he’d zeroed in on what he perceived to be the weak link in the chain: Lydia.

“As I said, he did it to hurt me,” Darcy finished quietly.  “I ought to have realized sooner that his interest in Lizzie had ulterior motives.  If I had, I might have been able to stop this.  Pay him off before he got to Gigi… and to you.  For that, I’m truly sorry.”

Lydia hadn’t moved an inch.  She stared right at him, or more accurately, through him with hollow eyes.

“Lydia?” he asked softly.  “Are you all right?”

“How could I not know?” she murmured.

His face fell.  “No, Lydia, this is not your fault.  I’ve told you—”

“He had that much hate inside him,” she continued, her voice flat.  “He hated you.  You were like a brother to him, and he—”  She stopped short, covering her mouth with her hands.

If he’d been a different sort of man, he might have pulled her hands away.  Unfortunately, Darcy could only be Darcy, and he was woefully ineffectual when it came to these matters.  “Lizzie knows you don’t hate her.”

“Doesn’t she?  Don’t I?”  Tears she’d been struggling to hold back since he arrived spilled over.  “I hardly even know what I feel anymore.”

Darcy knew they had George to thank for that, but he said nothing.  He reached for a box of tissues and handed it to her.  She took it but didn’t use it.  She just kept talking.  “The only reason I got with George in the first place was to get back at her.  I mean, Vegas was kind of an accident.  I wasn’t… I didn’t really know what I was doing.  But when I got home, I had a choice.  Call him or let him go.  But I called him.  I called him and I filmed it and I did it because I wanted her to see.  I told her not to look, but I just wanted her to see.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“I used him,” she hiccuped.  The tears were coming faster, and she let them fall from her eyes.  They wet her cheeks, circled her wrists, and darkened her clothing.  “I used him, but like… in  _hours_ , I wasn’t anymore.  Minutes maybe.  He made me feel… like I mattered.”  Her voice crumpled, and she gave a sobbing gasp.

Since Jane was apparently not going to come to his rescue, Darcy found he had to do something.  He patted her arm awkwardly.  His palm came away wet.  “Lydia—”

“It was real for me.  So real.  And I… I know he used me too.  I do know that.”  She looked at him so earnestly that it ached.  “But I think there were moments when he meant it too.”

Part of him wanted to disabuse her of that notion.  Another part of him thought she might be right.  But mostly, he had to admit that he had no idea.  He could no longer where the real George ended and the cruel persona began.  In truth, Darcy feared the persona was all that was left.

Lydia exhaled, shuddering.  She allowed herself a few more minutes to grieve, and he just sat there.  He could not take her in his arms even if she wanted him to.  He’d been shocked when reaching for Lizzie when she was in pain came naturally.  He would not be able to replicate the moment with Lydia.

Eventually, she came back to herself, wiping her eyes with the tissues she seemed to only just notice.  “What are you going to do when you find him?”

He opened his mouth to answer.  Then he stopped.  Amazing as it was, Darcy didn’t actually know.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true.  He knew he wanted to talk with him, figure out some way to put an end to these tortures and mind games, but he had no idea how that could be accomplished.  Where George was concerned, Darcy was lost.

Other matters were more in hand.  His lawyers had their fingers on the kill switch for the website.  He hadn’t wanted to take it down for fear that it would tip off George to Darcy’s imminent arrival.  It seemed too risky at the time.  He hadn’t even wanted to hire his usual private investigator to find George.  A few competent internet searches would have gotten anyone the name for the PI.  Darcy trusted her implicitly, of course, but one could never really be sure of people.  At least he couldn’t be.

Darcy realized now how stupid that had been.  In his desire to keep George in the dark, he’d left the website up so more people could bear witness to Lydia’s humiliation.  He hadn’t thought it mattered; once it was on the web, part of it would be there forever.  But Mrs. Bennet hadn’t known until that morning.  The school administration hadn’t known until recently.  He could have contained this, but he’d stupidly let it go on.

And for what?  Cloak and dagger war games?  Or his own arrogance?  His pathological need to deal with George once and for all, on his terms, without help from anyone but Fitz?

Gigi had been trying to tell him this was a mistake.  She’d been trying to help him.  She’d known all along that he needed her.  He hadn’t been listening.

It was time to start.

“What do you want me to do?”

Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting this from him.  “I…. What?”

“I ought to have come to you from the first.  I ought to have asked you.  What do you want me to do, Lydia?”

She stared at him as if no one had ever asked her that before.  He hadn’t thought it was possible to witness any more of her vulnerabilities.  Her insecurities were an abyss.

But after a moment, Lydia hardened.  Her voice was steady for the first time since he’d arrived.  Perhaps he’d done some good after all.  “The website.  I want it down.”

“Within the hour,” he assured her.

She didn’t press him on that, for which he was grateful.  “When you find him, don’t hurt him.  No matter how much you want to.”

Darcy had to admit, a punch or two would have been satisfying, but ultimately ineffective.  “I think I can manage that.”

“And tell him to call me.”

If Darcy could have choked on oxygen, he might have done.  “What?” he demanded.  “You want him to…. How can you possibly want to talk to him after what he did?”

Lydia didn’t flinch away from the question, though he realized it cost her to answer it truthfully.  “I have to know.  If any of it was real, I  _have_  to know.”

Of course.  Of course she did.  Stupid of him to ask.

He sighed, “You realize I can’t make him call you if he doesn’t want to.”

“I know.  I just want you to ask.  It’s all you can do.”

Darcy nodded.  Pathetic as it was, that was the extent of what he could do for her.  There was more to be done for him and for Gigi, but he could only go so far where Lydia was concerned.  As for the rest, it would be up to her and her family to pick up the pieces.

“I should go,” he said, getting to his feet.  “And… Lydia, perhaps it’s best if—”

“I won’t tell Lizzie you stopped by.”

He swallowed.  “Thank you.”  Something else occurred to him.  He wasn’t quite done here.  “One more thing, Lydia.  Could you possibly do me a favor?”

She arched an eyebrow, clearly skeptical at the idea that she owed him anything.  “What?”

“Talk to Lizzie.”

Lydia physically recoiled from the suggestion.  “It won’t matter.  She won’t listen.  Lizzie sees what Lizzie sees, remember?”

“Just try,” he advised.  “Make her listen if you must.  If it worked for me, then…. Well.  You know.”

She might have had more to say to that, but he didn’t stick around to listen.  He strode into the foyer and lifted his coat from the rack.  Minutes later, he was in his car and pulling out of the Bennets’ driveway.  On the off chance Lydia did try to follow him, he didn’t want to tarry.

Besides, he had a lot to accomplish.  He needed to inform his legal team to pull the plug on the website, damn the element of surprise.  That foregone, he saw no reason not to stop at the nearest decent hotel and have a rest.  He could start again in the morning.

There was just one thing he had to do first.

“Domino, call Gigi Darcy.”

It was time Darcy listened to what Gigi wanted.


End file.
